Shivering in the dark

Power’s out. It’s 16 degrees in the dining room. Power has been off for about 14 hours. It’s Sunday. The sky is dull and the rain/snow continues to glaze the roads and power lines. I’ve had a half-cup of Cheerios, half a banana and a hint of milk for breakfast. There are four adults and a four-yearold in the house. Food is being rationed, except for the kid. The kid has whatever she wants that doesn’t need to be heated. All the downtown businesses, in Picton, are closed, so the chance of stocking up isn’t going to happen. Who knew the first day of winter would leave us so vulnerable. I’d be the first person to preach about being prepared, as I rig a water heater in the kitchen and make a very miserable cup of tea. Let’s hear it for Girl Guides.

I actually learned something other than making hospital corners on my bed in Girl Guides. The truth is, I’m usually better prepared to handle a natural disaster. As much as I dislike canned food, we usually have a small stockpile of beans and pasta, just in case. But come on, it’s Christmas time, everything in a can went to the food drives, and I don’t have time for “worst case scenarios” and Christmas, too. Our youngest daughter texts us from Kingston. Early in the morning, they have power. “Come to Kingston. Stay with us,” she pleads. But the County roads are too icy and we can’t risk a treacherous drive, perhaps to find them in the same predicament upon our arrival. “Love you. Thanks for the offer. Stay warm. See you on Christmas day.” I’m thinking, “Whenever Christmas Day happens to happen.”

The joke around the five blanket and pillow forts in my ever-cooling living room is “if you need to send a column today, you could write it out in longhand and skate it to Wellington.” And, then what? Indeed. I couldn’t even make coffee this morning. The hand grinder is in the drive shed and the doors are frozen shut. And, if I could get the grinder out, then what? Hand grind those precious coffee beans and make a miserable mug of lukewarm coffee. If you know me, and some of you think you do, you know about my need for a mug of good, strong, hot coffee in the morning. Every morning. I can’t abide a miserable cup of coffee. I’m not a tea drinker, so a miserable mug of tea is just something warm to hold in my hands until the power comes on.

Our kitchen is especially cold. The thermostat in the kitchen now registers a meagre 14 degrees. The kitchen once served as a wood shed and has a breezy crawlspace underneath. The winter winds find comfort in that crawlspace. Our four-year-old guest is getting a bit antsy. She doesn’t seem to be bothered by the chill, but she’s tired of the sticker books and glitter paints. What started off as a bit of fun, the trip to the washroom with a little flashlight, stopped being interesting about three hours into her waking day. My little sweetie had been promised cinnamon buns and bacon for breakfast, and now a piece of wholewheat bread with cold blobs of butter and a couple of pieces of cheddar couldn’t buy enough PR to make them look or taste delicious. Breakfast gets but a glance as she caresses and gazes longingly at the candy canes on the tree. I know what she’s thinking. If a gal can’t have cinnamon rolls and bacon for breakfast, candy canes could be a close second. Besides, it’s getting colder in here and nothing works. A little gal has to have a dream. The battery operated radio is pressed into use to give us the latest on the power problems. Thousands of people are without hydro, and I know my good friends in orange are out there doing what they do best.

Power’s on. We all rush around giddily turning out lights and resetting digital clocks. We’ve been tricked once or twice overnight, but are certain we’ve got the power now. It’s just past one in the afternoon. After switching and resetting, the first thing LOML asks is, “How ‘bout a cup of coffee?” He knows the way to a gal’s heart, that’s for sure. I can switch from handwriting this column (ya, ya, but I wouldn’t have skated it to Wellington) to my laptop. The coffee arrives, as do the emails and messages. Mr. Conroy tells me a column is necessary for Christmas Day’s edition and it needs to be at his office by the end of today. My young friend, Jennifer, messages to tell the world Giant Tiger (GT) is re-opening in moments. I can send the column. Drink the coffee. Put on the mukluks and head out to GT for bread, milk, canned beans (passive heat), canned pasta, more candles and ground coffee.

By the time I leave it’s dusk. The house is comfortable. Our kids and the kid are in the kitchen baking, and the house smells divine. As I walk to GT, I worry about the folks who are still without power and may have to endure another night of cold and dark. The wonderful folks at GT have been in the store all day, getting ready to re-open. They’ve had their trials overnight, too. As I check out, Marcia smiles and asks if I have power at home. She looks concerned. And as she packs my bags, I ask her the same question, she responds, “We still don’t have power on The Heights but, I’ll be staying with my Dad tonight. He has a wood stove. At least we’ll be warm.” Sweet of her to ask.

“A special thanks to the municipal road workers, the emergency crews, the OPP and the Hydro guys in orange.” Stay warm and dry folks. It’s Christmas. Have the very best time with your friends and family. See you in the New Year.

theresa@wellingtontimes.ca